


the sun and the rainfall

by oryx



Category: Kamen Rider OOO
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Presumed Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3164828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which humans are fragile and unreliable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sun and the rainfall

**Author's Note:**

> "what's the logistics/timeline of this" you ask. i press a finger to your lips and whisper "shh. no questions. only tropes now"

“How are you so calm?” Hina asks.  
   
Her voice is quiet and heavy with tiredness. Her eyes are rimmed with red. Shingo desperately wants to hug her – Ankh can feel him reaching out, unwittingly trying to take control, but Ankh is in no mood to let him. Not right now.  
   
“Haa?” Ankh says, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you all just making a big deal out of nothing? He’ll be back soon enough.”  
   
Hina stares at him, her expression caught somewhere between horror and astonishment.  
   
“Ankh,” she says, after a long moment of silence. “Ankh, you _saw_ what happened to him. You saw – ”  
   
 _OOO, impaled straight through on that creature’s sword, blood trickling out from between his fingers as he pressed them to the wound. The armor fading away. How wide and dark Eiji’s eyes had been, with all the colour drained from his face. The way he had staggered, falling backwards into the chasm behind him, into that swiftly-vanishing light –_  
   
“So what?” Ankh scoffs. “It’s Eiji, idiot. Eiji always comes back.”  
   
  
   
  
   
 _6 days._  
   
“Should we contact his family?” Chiyoko asks, voice hushed despite the fact that Cous Coussier is all but empty. There haven’t been many customers the past few days. Everyone’s disgustingly gloomy faces scaring people away, probably. Not that Ankh cares, of course, but it’s just kind of pathetic to witness. These dumbasses seriously believe that Eiji’s dead.  
   
“I don’t know.” Hina’s fingers twist the hem of her skirt. “How could we even explain it…?”  
   
“What would be the point? It’s not as if they cared about him in the first place,” Gotou says. He’s seated at the counter, staring at his clenched fists, like he’s fighting down the urge to hit something or someone.  
   
God, they sound like they’re about to start eulogizing. Ankh “tch”s; turns back to his phone, scrolling through a long thread of comments without really reading them, the words blurring together on the screen. He’s had a hard time concentrating as of late.  
   
Too eerily quiet around this damn place.  
   
  
   
  
   
 _15 days._  
   
Eiji really should have been back by now, he thinks.  
   
 _He’s only human,_ says the annoyingly logical part of his mind. _To recover from an injury like that… It would take at least a month, if not longer._  
   
But that, of course, only irritates him more. Why do humans have to be so fucking useless? So unreliable and easily broken? Never around when you need them to be.  
   
 _So you need him?_ that smug, logical voice asks, and Ankh brings his fist down hard on the table, mouth twisting into a scowl.  
   
He pushes the thought aside, burying it deep, and goes back to watching the door.  
   
(When it opens he sits up a little straighter, but it’s only Satonaka, and she gives him a look that’s almost pitying as he slumps down once more in his seat.)  
   
  
   
  
   
 _27 days._  
   
Ankh really hates the winter.  
   
“Well, birds usually fly south, right?” Eiji would say, nodding thoughtfully, and when Ankh would turn to glare at him he’d simply smile, cheeks dimpling, and suggest someplace warmer they might travel to.  
   
Now there’s not even anyone to complain to, other than Hina, whose advice annoys him with its practicality.  
   
“You wouldn’t be so cold if you didn’t sit up on the roof all the time,” she sighs.  
   
He rolls his eyes. It’s not his fault the roof offers the best view. Up there he can look out in every direction, and zero in on the face of every person who approaches Cous Coussier, seeking out that mop of dark hair and those awful patchwork clothes.  
   
That punk Eiji better get back soon, he thinks, as the wind cuts through him and a shiver works its way down his spine. Or else Shingo might very well freeze to death before it happens.  
   
  
   
  
   
 _35 days._  
   
Eiji never made much noise when he slept. There were the occasional night terrors, yeah, but even then his whimpering and uneven breaths were quiet, muffled, as if even in sleep he didn’t want to cause too much trouble for others.  
   
So it’s strange, Ankh thinks, how noticeable the silence is.  
   
He’s only now realizing how accustomed he’d become to the sound of Eiji’s breathing, no matter how inconspicuous it was. Without those soft little sounds the room feels much too still and hollow and cold. (Not that he’s getting all sentimental or anything. Just an observation, really.)  
   
He tosses and turns in his nest. He closes his eyes but can’t find sleep.  
   
Maybe, he thinks. Maybe Eiji’s bed would be more comfortable. He’s not fond of sleeping so low to the ground, but he supposes an exception can be made, just this once.  
   
The sheets have all been washed, but something of Eiji’s smell still lingers – dusty earth and sweat and sunlight.  
   
Ankh presses his face against the pillow and breathes in deep, and tries not to think too much about the ache in chest as he finally drifts away.  
   
  
   
  
   
 _36 days._  
   
“That’s… Eiji’s scarf,” Hina says softly. She reaches out a hesitant hand as if to touch it, but he shrugs away from her.  
   
“Yeah, and?” Ankh retorts. “I like it, so I’m wearing it.”  
   
He doesn’t. It’s an ugly thing – green and orange, what kind of colour combination is that? But he remembers Eiji receiving it, as a gift from an old woman in a crowded village bazaar, the air sharp with woodsmoke and bitter cold. He remembers the way Eiji’s eyes had brightened over something so pointless and simple. And when Hina isn’t looking he wraps the scarf a little tighter around his neck, and feels his tension ease.  
   
  
   
  
   
 _49 days._  
   
He wonders why ice doesn’t taste as good anymore.  
   
He unwraps it and places it on his tongue, but the taste is muted and dull, the crisp sweetness he used to savor all but faded. Lacking in a way that’s reminiscent of old times.  
   
No one’s there telling him to stop. No one’s sighing about how little money they have, how they’ll be sleeping in the park again tonight if he keeps this up, all the while their tone of voice suggesting that they don’t really mind. That they’re happy just to be here with him no matter what the circumstances. That they’d buy him all the ice in the world if they could.  
   
Maybe that’s why.  
   
  
   
  
   
 _57 days._  
   
He allows Shingo to have the entire day.  
   
Not like there’s anything interesting going on around this place anyhow.  
   
“I’m really worried about him,” he hears Hina say, a distant voice, echoing down to the corner of Shingo’s mind that he’s retreated to. “I think… part of him must still be in denial. But he seems so empty, too. I just… I don’t know what to do for him.”  
   
“He’s probably not used to grief,” Shingo says. “This might be the first time he’s ever truly felt it. It’s no wonder he’s having trouble.”  
   
 _What the hell are they talking about?_ Ankh wonders, and allows their conversation to fade until it’s just a hushed whisper in his ears.  
   
He’s so tired today. Thinking is too much work.  
   
  
   
  
   
 _70 days._  
   
They’re sitting side-by-side on a low rock wall, facing out towards the calm ocean, the sun sinking low and orange-ish pink along the horizon. Behind them are white stucco buildings with flowers under every windowsill, brightly coloured shirts strung along clotheslines. Eiji is humming softly to himself as he counts their pitiful amount of coins.  
   
“Hey, Ankh,” he says absently. “You like it here, don’t you?” When he gets no response, he glances up with an amused smile. “I can tell, y’know, even if you won’t say it. Let’s come back again in a couple years.”  
   
He folds up their money and leans back on his hands, tilting his face up to the sky, the wind sweeping his hair out of his eyes. His little finger brushes against Ankh’s own, and Eiji’s smile broadens as he curls them together.  
   
And that is when Ankh wakes up, to a room that is cold and dark and empty.  
   
  
   
  
   
 _76 days._  
   
“I guess he really is dead.”  
   
Chiyoko and Hina glance over at him from across the room, pausing in the middle of sweeping up, both of them gone suddenly very still.  
   
He leans back in his seat with a callous laugh. “Guess it doesn’t really matter, right? In a perfect world you idiot humans barely live a hundred years anyhow. Die at twenty-five, die at ninety-five. What’s the difference, really?”  
   
He expects Hina to get angry with him. Maybe, in a way, he’s hoping for it. Instead, she looks at him with the kind of weary sadness he’s only ever seen on Eiji’s face. She walks over and wraps her arms around his shoulders, resting her chin on the top of his head.  
   
“I’m sorry, Ankh,” she says.  
   
“Hah. Sorry for what? He was too reckless and stupid. Of course he went and got himself killed. That’s all there is to – ”  
   
The words catch in his throat, then, jagged and painful. His throat aches as he swallows them down.  
   
“I’m sorry,” Hina says again. Her hand grips his shoulder tightly.  
   
He closes his eyes and clenches his teeth and leans against her, just a little.  
   
  
   
  
   
 _80 days._  
   
He sleeps, mostly, and is glad when he doesn’t dream.  
   
  
   
  
   
 _? days._  
   
He’s woken by Hina shaking him. Clearly she’s too excited to keep herself in check, as his head is smacked against the wall in the process, and he feels like his wrist is being crushed in her grip.  
   
“What?” he hisses, swatting her hands away and groaning in pain. This fucking woman and her demon strength.  
   
“Ankh,” she’s nearly shouting. “Ankh, you have to get up!”  
   
Before he can so much as protest he is being dragged forcefully out of bed by the collar of his shirt and shoved out into the front room. Someone else is there, too, and slowly Ankh lifts his eyes.  
   
Eiji’s hair is longer. Not by much, but enough that it flips up at the ends just a bit more than before. Somehow that is what Ankh notices first.  
   
“Ankh,” Eiji says, his expression soft, smile growing more pronounced as he takes a step forward. “I missed y – ”  
   
Ankh moves without thinking to close the distance between them, drawing his fist back and punching Eiji square in the jaw. Pain blossoms through his hand from the force of it, but it’s worth it to see Eiji go sprawling, landing hard on the floor, his eyes wide with surprise.  
   
“…You usually punch me in the stomach,” he murmurs, as Ankh bends down to grab him by the collar, twisting his fingers into the fabric.  
   
“Oi, Eiji,” he hisses, relief and rage and disbelief all coursing hot beneath his skin. “Where the _fuck_ have you been?”  
   
Eiji’s expression fades back into that sincere smile. “Oh, I met these nice people,” he says. “I was hurt pretty bad – looked like I might not make it for a while there – but they managed to fix me up somehow. And y’know, by some stroke of luck they knew a lot about alternate dimensions and stuff like that. They let me travel along with them until I got back here.” He turns his head and nods toward Cous Coussier’s still-open door. Ankh follows his gaze and frowns. Since when was there a photography studio across the street?  
   
“You… You just…” He opens and closes his mouth, struggling to find the right words. He’s breathing hard, the pounding of his pulse lessening a bit as his anger ebbs away. Eiji’s face is very close – he can see the faint stubble along his jawline, and a tiny scar on his temple that he doesn’t recognize, already healed in the time they’ve been apart.  
   
“You kept me waiting for way too damn long,” he says, and though he tries his best to sound nonchalant his voice ends up wavering pitifully.  
   
“Yeah,” Eiji says gently. He reaches up to touch Ankh’s hand, which has changed into its actual form without him meaning to. “I’m sorry. I should’ve come back sooner.”  
   
Ankh holds his gaze for a long moment. He sinks down slowly, then, until he’s all but straddling Eiji’s lap, and leans forward to rest his forehead on Eiji’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around his waist and squeezes a bit too tight, if Eiji’s wince is any indication. But he won’t let go, he thinks, as Eiji returns the embrace with a weak laugh, the palms of his hands warm against Ankh’s back.  
   
He won’t let go.


End file.
